Golden Sands
by JJuna
Summary: Merlin has been waiting for 1500 years, when events take an unexpected turn. This story was inspired by the gorgeous graphic by Wil1969.


A/N: Thank you to Wil1969, not only for the wonderful graphic, but for help and advice as well. :)

Merlin Bond checked his watch again. Sarah was very late. Of course, watches were rather old fashioned now, but he was still rather attached to his, even if you could do everything with a mobile phone these days. He glanced up and saw his date weaving her way past the tables in the crowded restaurant in her rush to join him. She arrived, a little breathless, with a smile of apology on her lips. He looked up, struck again by her beauty. She was wearing a light green dress which matched the colour of her eyes. Her shoulder length blond hair looked as if she had come straight off the set of a hair commercial, and she formed her rosebud mouth into a little pout.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I got held up. Have you been waiting long?"

"Not at all," he replied politely.

"You always were a terrible liar, Merlin," she smiled. "But I'll make it up to you."

"You don't have to," he said. He caught the glance of the waitress who hovered close by. "Shall we order?"

The waitress handed them the menus and waited while they scanned them. "Hmm, I'll have the steak; medium, please," said Sarah, and looked at Merlin enquiringly.

"The mushroom stroganoff for me," he replied. He'd been vegetarian for a long time, and thankfully, the days of rat stew were far behind him."What shall we have to drink?"

"Champagne, definitely," she smiled.

Merlin raised his brows but made no comment until the waitress had left to take their order to the kitchen.

"Now tell me, to what do I owe the honour of this invitation, and what are we celebrating?"

She hesitated for a moment, looking at him as if to anticipate his response. "I'm getting married," she told him bluntly.

"Congratulations!" he said, a concerned frown marring his expression. "But isn't this a trifle sudden?"

"Sudden! Merlin, I haven't seen you in two years!" He looked a little guilty at this and was about to protest, but she stopped him. "I know, I know, you're a martyr to your work, and I've been abroad for most of that time. I'm just pleased that you could come today." She hesitated again. "I've a huge favour to ask."

"If it's within my power..."

"I want you to give me away."

Surprise held him silent for a moment. "Me? But what about your father?"

"We're getting married in the Caribbean, and my father isn't well enough to travel. He suggested you in his stead, and there's no one else I'd rather have."

He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath, eyeing her with sympathy. Her father was one of the few people who knew about him. Since he had come to their attention by accident, the knowledge was entrusted only to those at the very highest level of government and the security services in each generation. Usually, though, they left him to his own devices, having learnt by experience that this was the best way, unless he was needed for some emergency. Recently, there had been many such emergencies as the kingdom was under constant threat. Merlin's skills were unique and invaluable – indispensable even, to the British government. A man who could change his appearance at will or even become invisible, who spoke many languages and who had a first-hand knowledge of human history and culture, whose powers were superhuman, and who[i] couldn't die[/i], had the makings of an invincible spy. To have such a man at their disposal was a blessing for the kingdom but a curse for Merlin personally. He had been willing to 'do his bit', but only on the understanding that he retained his privacy and that any relationships remained strictly professional. If he were honest with himself, he'd admit that he mainly did it in the hopes of keeping the kingdom safe until Arthur's return, but the fear of loss had always prevented him from getting too close to anyone. He knew he couldn't bear to go through that kind of suffering again. But with Sarah's father, Tom, it had been different. Tom had gone through the usual Old Etonian/Oxbridge route to get to the top of MI6, but he had the common touch. With his mop of blond hair, easy athleticism, and casual grace, he'd reminded Merlin of a certain someone. His intellect was also rigorous, and it was a pleasure to converse with him. There had been an instant connection, and Merlin had somehow let him in and had formed his first proper friendship in over fifteen hundred years. But it had come at a price, as Merlin had known it would. He'd had to watch his friend grow old and weaken, while he remained in the full bloom of youth. Now Tom had retired and spent all his time at his grand pile in the country. Merlin had fond memories of Langton Manor. He'd spent many happy times there while Sarah was growing up. Tom's home had always been full of love and laughter, and his family had always treated Merlin as one of them. Sadly, Tom's wife, Anne, had recently died, and his friend was now alone.

"I'm sorry, I haven't been to see him in a while," Merlin sighed regretfully. "Work. Always bloody work. I'll go down this weekend."

"He'll like that," Sarah smiled. "But I warn you, he's very frail now. Don't be shocked, will you?"

"Nothing ever shocks me," Merlin replied gently. How true that was, he mused. He had witnessed and experienced just about everything imaginable. He'd lost the ability to be shocked centuries ago.

"So, about my proposal," she said, bringing the subject back to the matter in hand, and fixing her eyes on him with a determined gaze. "If you're worried about the publicity, we've hired a private beach – well, the whole resort, actually. There'll only be one official photographer, and we can make sure you're kept out of shot, if you like." Merlin was a virtual recluse, first from choice and now from necessity. She didn't even know his real name and was aware that he had adopted the moniker 'Bond' as a joke. Nevertheless, she would give anything to have him there. He was the kindest and most noble person she'd ever met, and if she were honest, the mystery made her love him even more.

He wasn't in the mood for a wedding, of course. It was too bitter a reminder of the kind of relationship that he could never have and normally he'd avoid these occasions like the plague. But he owed it to Tom and Sarah. "I'd be delighted," he said. "Who's the groom? Do I know him?"

"Duc Nicholas De Belmont," she replied. "I don't think you've met him, but I'm sure you'll like him."

"No, I haven't met him. That's not a name one would easily forget. European aristocracy?"

"Yes, he's from St. Ange. It's a principality on the borders of..."

"I know where it is," he smiled. "I just haven't kept up with their current aristocracy. So, you're going up in the world, Sarah," he teased.

"You could say that. Although not as high up as _you_ took me," she laughed. Their food arrived, and the conversation paused momentarily. "When the waitress had left she continued, a little wistfully, "Do you remember when you took me flying?"

Of course he remembered. It had been on her seventh birthday. Arriving late for her party because of work, he'd wanted to make amends with something extra special. Perhaps the wine served so liberally at the manor might also have had something to do with it. In any case, they'd been watching 'The Snowman' video later that day, and Sarah had expressed the wish that it was her 'walking in the air'. On the spur of the moment, Merlin had decided to gratify her desire, had magicked up and donned a snowman costume, and it wasn't long before they had found themselves soaring above the treetops, looking down on the beautiful grounds her father owned.

Tears came to her eyes as she relived the memory. "That was the best present ever," she whispered, awe in her voice. "You even made it snow. In _July_."

"I'm glad it made you happy. Perhaps I'll do the same for your children in a few years time," he grinned.

"Like Peter Pan?"

"Not like Peter Pan. He couldn't grow up. I just can't die," he said, the pain and bitterness that were always present, just below the surface, coming back to haunt him yet again.

"Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry for reminding you," she said, tears filling her eyes again. She stretched her hand across the table to squeeze his gently in support.

"Reminding me? It's not your fault. As if I could ever forget," he sighed. "Or at least I can't die until _he_ comes back."

"He? Arthur, you mean?"

"Yes." At least, that's what Kilgharrah had told him, when he'd finally managed to get the dragon to speak without any riddles or obfuscation. Arthur would return when he was most needed, and they would live out their lives together, so that Merlin could properly fulfil his destiny the second time around. Then, and only then, would the warlock be allowed to rest his aged bones in the soil and gain the peace he so craved.

"What was he like?" she asked curiously. "You never really talk about those times."

That was true, he reflected. It was always painful to remember, but he'd told her plenty about other events of the past. Her history projects had always had the ring of authenticity. Now he forced himself to think of the good times he'd had in Camelot.

"He was a prat," he said, a little smile hovering on his lips. "A giant prat, actually."

"So, not the great king of legend, then?" she asked, the surprise in her tone obvious.

"Oh, he was that, too," he said softly. "The very best of them."

 **...**

The princess of St. Ange paced up and down the private departure lounge, having just received the news that her flight would be delayed due to bad weather conditions. She knew this meant that she'd miss the wedding. Her cousin Nicholas was getting married, and she was to be the guest of honour. Her manager had just broken it to her and was waiting for her instructions. She supposed they would have to return to the hotel and wait. A freak storm, of all things, at the worst possible time. No flights would be leaving until the following day. With any luck, she might make the reception afterwards, if not the ceremony itself.

On the journey back to the hotel, she wondered how Nicholas' bride would settle into the family. It was a daunting prospect to be catapulted into the royal circle and to come under intense public scrutiny. Sarah was certainly a beautiful woman, but it had been such a whirlwind romance that Mithian had only met her once, having been studying hard for her finals at university. She knew that her parents and aunt and uncle had met her many times, so if Sarah had survived that kind of appraisal, she must have come up to scratch. "Love at first sight", Nicholas had told her on the phone, admitting he'd been instantly smitten. Mithian wondered if something like that would ever happen to her, but she didn't seem the type. She thought of herself as a practical, down to earth girl, and there had been no one special so far. Yet she always felt there was something missing. Something else, just beyond her grasp, although she had no idea what it was. Occasionally, there was the hint of a dream or a memory, a sensation so fleeting, that the moment she tried to reach for it, it was gone. Sighing, she gave herself a mental shake, and turned her mind to the question of her future career. Having always been drawn to Britain and fascinated by history, she'd chosen to read Classics and English at Oxford, and had delighted her parents, the monarchs of St. Ange, by graduating with a first. They would probably not be so thrilled by the news that she wished to return to Britain to work, she realized. This was not what was expected of a princess, but Mithian knew that something would happen to smooth her path. It always did.

 **...**

Despite the absence of the guest of honour, the wedding passed off without a hitch. The small Jamaican church was perfect. Bedecked with flowers to which Merlin had added his own unique touch, the occasion was truly magical and intimate. The bride, resplendent in a chic Oscar de la Renta dress, drew universal praise and admiration. Merlin was proud to walk her down the aisle, although he felt uncomfortable in his morning suit. Never one for dressing up, he looked forward to the reception, where he could change into something less formal and more his usual style. The groom was affable and handsome, and Merlin had been impressed by his warmth and intelligence at their first meeting. Merlin had always been a good judge of character. It was a relief to the warlock that Sarah had chosen so well, and he had no doubt of the couple's happiness together.

 **...**

The evening party was in full swing by the time Merlin arrived, feeling wistful and wanting to melt into the background. Sarah would have none of it, however, "There you are," she exclaimed, grasping his arm and pulling him into the throng. "There are some people I want to introduce you to." But his attention was soon claimed by a woman who had her back to him. She wore a peach gown, low cut at the back, with straps covered in seashells, while her hair, adorned with flowers, was swept up in a chignon. She radiated grace and poise, and Merlin felt inexplicably drawn to her. "Who is that?" he asked breathlessly.

"Who do you mean?" Sarah responded, following the direction of his gaze. "Oh, that's Nicholas' cousin, Princess..." Before she could complete the sentence, Merlin's eyes had widened in recognition. He felt the breath knocked out of him, and the room suddenly seemed stiflingly hot. Her appearance made him dizzy; lights were dancing in front of his eyes. Finally his knees gave way, and he slumped to the floor. The woman in question, having turned, had caught a glimpse of someone fainting and rushed over to Sarah.

"What happened? Is he all right?" she asked with concern.

"I don't know," Sarah replied. "She knelt down and lifted Merlin's head, affording the princess an excellent view of the unconscious warlock. Sarah saw her tremble. She turned as pale as a sheet and perspiration beaded on her forehead, before her eyes rolled back in her head, and she too collapsed to the floor.

"What on _earth_ is going on..." Sarah exclaimed, totally bewildered by having two people suddenly unconscious at her feet.

Before Sarah had a chance to take any action, the princess was surrounded by flustered courtiers. They spoke to each other in a grim undertone, gesticulating wildly, before carrying her into an adjoining room. She turned her attention back to rousing Merlin.

"I know her." Merlin had regained consciousness, only to find that the princess had disappeared. He looked around frantically.

"So I should hope. She's a princess, and she's famous."

"No; you don't understand. I don't know her. I _know_ her."

"Clear as mud," she muttered. Then suddenly having an inkling of what he meant, she said, as a shiver went down her spine, "You mean you know her from _then_?"

"Yes."

"Oh my god," she said slowly, accentuating every syllable. "Well, she seems to know you too. She fainted when she saw you. They took her into the next room."

"I want to meet her," he said with determination, while scrambling to his feet. His head was still spinning, but he couldn't wait. "Introduce me, please." He moved hastily towards the door, but as he approached, it opened. Having had the same idea, Mithian entered, with her entourage behind her. They came face to face and stood staring at each other in silence. The years rolled away, and a flood of memories came sweeping back like a torrent, engulfing them both in emotions so powerful that they were trembling too much to speak. Sarah, with great presence of mind, pressed a tumbler of brandy into the hands of each. " Let's give them some space," she announced loudly. Mithian's entourage attempted to protest at the prospect of leaving their princess unattended in the company of a stranger, but they were no match for Sarah, who ushered everyone out. She was the kind of formidable Englishwoman that would not be gainsaid, and the couple were soon left alone.

It was Mithian who came to her senses first. "Hello, Merlin," she said, smiling softly up at him.

"You know me?" he stuttered, mentally chastising himself for being an inept fool. Of course she knew him, that much was obvious. _How_ she remembered was a different matter entirely. He needed to find out.

"Yes, we've met before. I could never forget your neckerchief," she said. "It's very distinctive." Now it was her turn to blush at the awkwardness of her comment. Mithian was struggling to process the avalanche of memories as a kaleidoscope of people, places, and images from a former life flashed through her mind. Her family...Arthur, Guinevere, _Merlin_. Mithian found herself beset by questions which she felt unable to voice. The truth about Merlin's sorcery and his decisive role in the victory at Camlann had been revealed after the battle. Gwen had legalized the use of magic, but Merlin had simply vanished and they had all wondered if he'd died. Now, as she gazed deeply into the warlock's eyes, she saw in them the wisdom of ages and the suffering of many lifetimes. Perhaps he'd never been away after all. She shuddered at the thought of what he must have endured. No one should have to go through that, but Merlin was the very best of men, and she longed to make the sorrow which haunted him like a shadow disappear.

Merlin recalled that he had told Sarah that nothing could shock him anymore. How wrong he'd been, he reflected. He was so shocked that he didn't know what to do. Shocked and elated. His emotions threatened to overwhelm him again. He'd been waiting for _Arthur._ If anyone was to return, he'd been sure it would be him. But instead he found himself gaping at the beautiful Princess Mithian, as scintillating and delicate as a rare exotic flower, and as much beyond his touch as before. Or was she? And what did it all _mean_? He opened his mouth to speak again, but no sound came out.

The music saved them from further embarrassment. In the ballroom, the orchestra struck up the tune to Voices of Spring, one of his favourite Viennese Waltzes. Lively, urgent, and joyful, it was in total harmony with his current mood.

Hell, he wanted this dance. After all, he'd waited fifteen hundred years for it. In Camelot times, he'd admired Mithian from a distance, but their difference in social status and his lack of confidence in himself had made any approach to her impossible. Now he was about to put that right. Thankfully, he wasn't afraid of falling over his own feet any more. 'Spy school' had put a stop to that. He had been flabbergasted to discover that along with training in weaponry and all the other arts considered essential for espionage, he'd been expected to follow a course in ballroom dancing. He'd gone along with it, all the while believing it to be a complete waste of time. It was true that he had never gleaned any state secrets on the dance floor, but he delivered a silent prayer of thanks to his erstwhile teacher. She had been rather strict, but it would all be worth it now.

"May I have this dance?" he ventured boldly.

Mithian laughed softly. "Oh Merlin, you know you don't even have to ask. I would be honoured."

He took her into his arms, never tearing his gaze away from her face, even for a second, and led her expertly into the waltz. Dance had been an integral part of Mithian's education when she was growing up, but her eyes widened in surprise and delight at how accomplished Merlin was.

"You dance well," she said.

"So I should. I've had long enough to practise," he replied with a wry smile. It took her a moment to understand his meaning, while they swept gracefully around the deserted room, twirling and pausing in rhythm with the music. She'd been right.

The music went faster, and they quickened their steps accordingly, their energy carrying them to every corner of the dance floor, moving smoothly as one. One heartbeat, Merlin felt, wondering if this was all an impossible dream. He had never been happier in his life, and considering the length of it, he concluded, that was really saying something.

Once the waltz had ended, he took her out onto the beach. Here, the classical waltzes gave way to a disco, and the sounds of Eighties pop music filled the air. They kicked their shoes off and strolled along the sands, just enjoying being in each other's company without the need for words. That would come later. Presently, as the evening began to draw in, the DJ changed the music to slower ballads.

"This is our song," Mithian said, when 'Move Closer' by Phyllis Nelson came on. She wanted nothing more than to be near him. Merlin gazed intently into her eyes, as if he could never stop. But Mithian did move closer and lay her head against his chest, while they swayed in rhythm to the music. It felt so right, so natural, she realized. This was what had eluded her all these years. The perennial sense of something just beyond her reach had gone, and the missing piece had finally clicked into place.

The strains of the music faded, and Mithian pulled away, her brow suddenly furrowed in concentration. "Have you thought, Merlin, that if I'm back, maybe he is too? Maybe they all are...We just have to find them."

He smiled at her earnestness and her ardent desire to help. The possibility had occurred to him, but at this moment, he couldn't care less. She was here, and that was all that mattered. For the first time in millennia, the future looked positive. "They can wait," he said huskily. " I have more important things to think of now." He stood still, drinking in her appearance; the sight, the smell, the feel of her, as if to assure himself that the miracle had happened and she wasn't a figment of his imagination, after all.

"You're real", he gasped. "I still can't quite believe it."

"Yes, I am," she laughed, stretching her arms around his neck and pulling him into a passionate embrace. "Believe it, Merlin."

Requiring no further proof, he gave a soft moan of desire. Mithian smiled up at him, offering her own version of paradise on this magical golden beach. Merlin knew he was embarking on an unprecedented adventure, and this time, he wouldn't be alone. Tears of joy and gratitude stung his eyes. He felt lightheaded with the thrill of a new beginning, and the knowledge that the next wedding he attended would be his own.


End file.
